


Forged With Frost And Devotion

by Zelynxia



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgardian!Tony, M/M, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Pyromancer!Tony, blacksmith!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelynxia/pseuds/Zelynxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magical weapons are much more than they look. All unique, they develop a deep bond with their owners and become part of them, valiant and trustworthy. When Loki's trial, amongst many things, leaves him weaponless, someone dear to him gives him a reliable address. Let's say the reliable part is yet to be proven in his books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Flaring Salamander

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with a gifset (/post/53114385765/, the url is the same as my name). I said I was writing something for it back then, and here we are, countless months after. I checked this chapter a thousand times but english isn't my mothertongue, so I'm sorry in advance for any mistake.

He still had the option to turn back he realized, as his slower steps became obvious to himself in the shadowy alley he was walking in. This was far from being out of fear nor intimidation. He wasn't fond of the idea of depending partially on someone else's ability but he could put this feeling aside. No, he really thought this was a bad idea -for his own standards anyway, therefore not in a good way- and that nothing constructive would come out of this. Around him, the evening was progressively making its way in the streets of the golden city of Asgard, the sun was dying in a last bright diffusion of light on the horizon, a luminescent sigh before the shadows would come to claim their rights over the streets.

The whole thing had given him a bad intuition right from the moment his mother had started talking about it to be honest, yet he knew making his way backwards would only sound like he was giving up, which was wrong, and he would never hear the end of it from the Queen. He could already imagine it all too well. Because she knew what she was saying and even though she would be amongst the only ones not to call him a coward, she would still look at him with this disapproving look that could be enough to make one full of self loathing and remorse for a solid week. _Fine_. The quicker he would confront the situation and be done with it, the better.

He adjusted his hood and took more confident, royal-like steps towards his destination. The place was almost desert, saving these two kids who were playing cheerfully with a puppy in front of their doorstep. They were too absorbed into the little animal to notice him. At the very other end of the alley, a guard was doing his usual shift, going back up towards the core of the city as they were being rejoined by another one. He kept on walking, eventually turning onto the back alley on his left, which lead him on what seemed to be a dead end.

Another step and a scared, big ball of fur came out of nowhere, hissed vigourously at him and fled in the opposite direction without leaving him enough time to discern what in the nine realms that thing was. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding; damn this fellow was a vicious sneaking one. Without much surprise, the puppy barked the second after the creature had been out of his sight. According to the noise echoed on the cobblestones, the children had even started to run after their pet.

Correction: the place was totally desert.

There was only one house at the end of the short cul-de-sac bathed in sunlight and shadow, but oh what a house it was. Now that it wasn't hidden by surrounding buildings anymore and simply by the way it was on display, it was hard to miss how unique it was. For sure it had been built in a traditional asgardian style, however clearly an important personal touch had been added -if the unrusted iron structure instead of the typical gold and copper was of any indication, that and the walls partly made of shattered garnets too, maybe- and that only made it look even more flamboyant. Its shape was in a standing L, with a big smoking chimney installed on the smaller roof. It was also the part of the house the front door for business leaded to, above which a sign made of a fine piece of metal was hanging. "The Flaring Salamander" was written on it in a messy carved handwriting yet acompanied by elegant runes and the symbolic animal at the bottom.

He passed by the empty workbench put up in the courtyard and knocked at the door, twice, before entering when he saw the clench was not resisting. He was straight away welcomed by a wave of heat. And the amazing sight of an organized mess at its finest. It was a miracle the shelves against the walls were still standing as they were entirely filled with tools, blueprints and light weapons, while the heaviest ones were suspended on arm racks all around the smithy.

"The shop is closed you know," greeted a nonchalant voice in the distance.

A couple of meters ahead, the owner of the shop was sitting on a stool in front of one of his large work surface, his back turned at him. The man didn't bother to face his late visitor, picking up a pair of pliers instead, his attention full on whatever he was working on that Loki couldn't see. Next to him, the forge was quietly snoring plumes of smoke. More than half of the room was circular to fit its shape, except for the entrance hall and that little area where a long counter stood.

"Technically it isn't since I'm here," Loki replied on the same tone. He let his hood fall over his shoulders, revealing his long raven hair tied in a loose ponytail.

"Technica— oh great, we have a smartass."

My, if that man knew who he was talking to. Of course he didn't, his back was still turned at him, and even though he eventually dropped his project, it was only to grab the wet towel laying near on the table and to clean his hands. From his general aspect, Loki thought he should just as well take a bath. Because of sweat, his not so short brown hair was stuck on his skin at the very base of his neck and a bit over the start of his shoulders, and mud and dust covered his naked arms. His peculiar grey tank top -no way it could have come from any tailors here- was even stained on the behind, clinging to his waist.

Wait until the unfortunate soul saw his face.

"Fine, spit it," the blacksmith conceeded in what seemed to be a great effort from his part when he sensed that his late customer wasn't going to leave. "What can I do for ya?"

And that was when he stood up and deigned to take a look at the royal figure. His clever eyes stared at him for a few seconds, straight in the eyes, vivid earth against absynth green. There was dark traces of ashes and metallic dust all over his face that gave him a feral expression. Eventually the man looked down, and down, considering his entire attire and losing too many seconds over his hips, then up again and wait, did he just check him out? He studied his face again and maybe that was it, the spark of realisation, as he narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows a little, his mouth slightly agape. The man was going to recognize him and know his place and offer his excuses, even if begrudgingly and-

"Don't they have a private blacksmith in the court?" he asked in mocked disbelief.

Alright, was there a discreet efficient way to get rid of a living being here. Out of mere curiosity.

"I'm warning you, I won't make you eight horseshoes even if you ask them in pure adamantium and sparkling diamonds."

Too bad they were on the ground floor, so much for a defenestration. He could use the fire of the dormant forge at his advantage then.

Dormant _for now_.

"Picturing a way to murder me, aren't you?"

Oh well, how would he have explained this to his mother anyway.

"At least you are aware of your rudeness," the prince of Asgard snapped back. "You severely lack manners in front of a royal member, but it is evident you are aware of that as well."

The blacksmith snorted disdainfully, crossed his arms.

Embers in the smithy produced tiny sparks that danced fiercely in the air for a brief moment.

"Royal member, huh. After all you've done, you sure are full of shit. Let's do this again then, shall we?" and he bore an unnerving smile all teeth that didn't reach his eyes. Before his customer-to-be got the chance to move forward and strangle him, considering his clenched wrist, he went on. " Oh dear fallen prince Loki, ex-invader of Midgard, mighty God of Mischief,"

But said God had already sighed and begun to walk towards the exit.

"I'm wasting my— "

"Tell me what can I do exactly that your own blacksmiths cannot?" and his tone suddenly was dead drop serious with a perceptible hint of curiosity.

Loki hesitated. Was the man truthfully ready to listen to him now? Hel, was it all even worth it. He thought about what his mother had told him again, then glanced at the brunet.

Thanks the Norns he never claimed to be sane.

"I need twin blades."

The other let out a bark of laughter.

"Are you telling me that your craftsmen can't make you a couple of daggers?" he asked as he sat on the edge of his workbench.

 _Their craftsmen wouldn't make a single thing for me at all anyway_ , Loki thought bitterly, but there was absolutely no reason to mention it. If the blacksmith's look now wasn't judgmental, he didn't know what it was. An unsaid _I dare you to correct me_ only made him think more carefully over his answer. Focus. Give the man what he wants to hear, Silvertongue.

"Someone told me you knew the art of making such weapons. It requires patience and cleverness and I cannot find such skills in the court for they do not hold any valuable knowledge into magical crafting. I'm a mage, not a warrior, and I know what I'm asking for, twin blades aren't just two pale copies of each other. Unless you are not the man living to his reputation, as dubious as this one can get."

The man studied him for a long time, his indecipherable stare piercing into him. He fiddled whith his unkempt goatee, he probably didn't shave nor have taken the time to do so for days. Something should have kept him occupied for a while. Or maybe he just didn't care but somehow Loki couldn't believe that -but _he_ was the one who didn't care there.

"Now you speak my language," the blacksmith finally said, pointing a finger at Loki, looking uprightly excited. He went behind his counter, pull out a pencil and a sheet of paper. "This is gonna take time, weeks even, though since you're smart this is no brand-new information. But there is something I need to know right away before you go and come back later -don't make this face, you're just hurting me."

"And that would be?" Loki cut him abruptly, rubbing slowly one of his temples with two fingers.

"The basic material. Which metal would you like your daggers to be made out from in their core?" the blacksmith asked as he lift his head.

"Well, I was thinking about mi— "

"Mithril. How unexpected. I thought you could do better than that," the brunet teased.

"Mithril," he went on along a harsh stare, "and plutonium. An alloy, to be more precise. Or is that beyond your skills?"

The blacksmith seemed thoughtful for a quick moment, actually considering it and visibly having a good capacity at ignoring his unpleasant remarks. Which was a good thing cause he sure was going to receive _a lot_ coming from him, just saying.

"Hmm, for a better magic conductor, of course. Light and resilient at the same time, openly receptive to surrounding energies, yes that would perfectly work", he mused. "Not bad, Trickster, not bad. I've run out of candies though, shit I should buy some of these honey sweets kids like so much. Though I never have kids in my shop. Only boring, dumb Æsir. Anyway, I know some dwarves who might gonna be pleased with my order, I don't have plutonium in store anymore. Hey, I hope you have some payment on account."

Loki did his best to try and chase the headache already well formed that was clouding his ears (or was his mind trying to filter the words coming out from the petulant man's mouth) and fumbled in the inner pocket of his long, thick leather cloak. He broke the miniaturization spell with a gentle finger movement and took out a rounded purse which tingled all the way until it rested on the counter. Needless to say it contained a generous amount of curracy, and the man looked at him in a 'are you even serious' way.

For Tony Stark wasn't in any need of money. He definitely wasn't. He had proved himself a long time ago and his brilliant mind had greatly helped him for that. The account was just enormous, he could tell just by a glance. But then again he shouldn't be that surprised, considering who he was dealing with.

"You do need me, huh” he scoffed at him with a smirk, which earned him a perfect impassive look in return. “Yeah, I think this should be more than enough. We have a deal then, Killjoy", he said as he offered a hand expectantly at the god of Lies.

Loki gave him a dubious look before slowly reaching out his own hand and shaking briefly yet firmly the other's.

"Anthony Stark, right?" he asked in polite curiosity, more as a rhetoric question though.

"Please, everybody calls me Tony," Tony said absentmindedly, now focused on scribbling notes on his sheet of paper.

"I am not everybody."

Stark turned his attention upon him again, his face blank as he scrutinized him circumspectly. Like he was trying to decipher a thousand things just out of those stunning green orbs, like he was truly seeing Loki Liesmith said Odinson of Asgard for the first time, all rumours and facts apart. Then the right side of his mouth curled up a bit and the smile almost looked honest, if it wasn't for the smugness dripping from it.

"Sure you aren't," he agreed. "But guess what, neither am I. Come back in five days, I should have the ore by then, so you can tell me what you expect from the lovelies you want." A pause. "Now consider the shop as officially closed, Leather Boy."

Loki didn't need to be told twice. Four seconds after and he was already outside. As he was closing the door, he heard Stark grumbling about where the hell 'Dummy' was, that damn useless furball.

_Oh._

Well, he wasn't going to tell him.

 


	2. Unstable State Of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, thank you a lot for all the kudos and the hits, I honestly didn't expect that much interest and curiosity, that makes me truly happy (:

 While the city of Asgard was almost inhabited and frequented by Æsir only, the harbour in the other hand was a complete different story. More than being one of the most dynamic areas of the realm, day and night, it was a real concentrate of diversity and colours, from the many shades of skin tones to the different types of fashion coming from other realms, through all the kinds of merchandise and goods one could find. Most of the ships tied up in the docks belonged to the rightful people of Asgard, yet with the heavily guarded district that hosted the aerodrome, a jewel of magitechnology in itself that encompassed the maritime port and partly towered over the sea , the whole harbour was so full of foreigners and traders, it was ridiculously easy to melt into the crowd.

The local inn was no better.

The morning was coming to an end and it was only a matter of time before the place would be filled with a continuous background noise made of chatter and and clatter of dishes. Sat alone in a corner, Tony Stark was sipping his mead. Because you never know, maybe one day you'll start to like it all of a sudden, the same day you'll recognize Odin as the only savior of the Nine Realms, probably. Bullshit. Man, he really needed something stronger but the waitress insisted on that he should definitely taste this fresh mead that just arrived from the brewery, that it was on her and who was he to refuse such a lovely attention.

Shocking news, he still didn't like it.

Tony raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his mug, rolled his eyes in a way that carried all the pain of the world. Kept on drinking anyway.

For a man who was so social and loved to be the center of attention, he managed pretty well to have his alone times when he felt the urge. This was one the reasons why he loved to hang around there. A lot of people here knew his face for he was always ready to give a hand and repair spaceships when he wasn't needed at the forge, even if it was just for a couple of hours in a week. But they hardly gave him undesired attention, there was so many things to do in the harbour after all. It wasn't like he could contrast sharply with the rest of the crowd anyway, when he was wearing an overused pair of black slacks and an old shirt that was bound to get dirty whenever he would work at the aerodrome. At least he was freshly shaved and his hair were as tamed as they could be on regular days. That was enough to make up for all the dark stains he had earned earlier on his bare forearms and his cheeks.

He fidgeted in his seat, played with the rim of the mug.

The dwarf was late.

Like he was one to talk. Maybe it was him who was early for once, he had absolutely no clue. Sighing deeply, he stared at his empty mug -what, that was still alcohol. He couldn't believe his luck. He had had three whole days to ponder over it and he still couldn't believe the situation he was in. Nor what to think of it. Sure he had complained about the recent decreasing number of orders, he hated having nothing to do and they brought him a nice distraction. The forge was his life, his baby, and the fire within him an hungry force craving to express itself. The fact he hadn't been able to focus properly on his own projects those last months didn't help to lift his mood at all. Years. Whatever.

That didn't mean he wanted to have such a guy as a customer either, for fuck's sake. And for his own too, actually.

“Got a new assignement at the shop”, he had said flatly to Rhodey at the hangar, as he was checking his personal aircraft without thinking. Nasty scratch on the left wing, nothing serious though, he had noted. Maybe Rhodey would even want to keep it as a battle wound. “Got to craft a magical weapon for a crazy cold-blooded mass murderer who would love to rule one kingdom or two.”

His longtime friend had abruptly stopped cleaning his dashboard to turn and look grimly at him. Tony had stared back. His face hadn't held any particular emotion, had even looked bored, as if this was his life, a normal routine, nothing special here, so say how was your day so far, can I please paint your ship red at last.

“Again?”

Tony's mouth had straighten into a thin line, his jaw slightly pushed forwards. He had looked away, hadn't known what to do with his hands. Then a grin that didn't match his eyes, but the bitterness on his face had quickly faded and he had taken his leave with a mischievous “Magic, pal. _Magic_.”

The captain of the aerial defense had watched him leave without further words until Stark had been out of sight. Mages and their little to no self-preservation, he had sworn in his beard.

Tony rested his chin on his hand, and gazed absently at the empty chair in front of him.

He didn't know much about Loki to be perfectly honest. He had heard a lot of things, oh so many things especially at the central tavern Asgardians loved to go to. People took too much pleasure in talking behind his back, lots of rumors went round about him, the amount of topics just for Loki was objectively ridiculous, gods, he didn't have time for that. To elucidate what was false and what wasn't. What was exaggerated, what was an understatement. There were only two reliable facts he trusted.

One, Loki had tried to destroy Jotunheim by using the power of the tree of Yggdrasil. That one alone was enough for Tony to make his blood boil a little and set his nerves on fire, no pun intended. He had been there in his own way, at one point in his life. Against his will, maybe, but this had never been an excuse. Two, he then had tried to take over Midgard with the help of the Chitauris. _The Chitauris_. What had the guy been thinking, seriously. Tony was pretty sure he'd have had to fight against his former allies would have he won.

And since he was at it, three, Thor's brother was a self-righteous bastard. Granted, the House of Odin was beyond screwed up, but _Loki._ So full of himself, that little shit, the kind of person to never admit they were wrong, acting like they were above everyone—

A sonorous cough next to him jolted him out of his reverie and nearly made him knock his glass over.

“About time”, he grumbled. He tilted his head to greet a large polished face that looked like it had been carved in stone. It was framed by long, tousled salt-and-pepper hair with a pair of goggles on top of them. Tony did his best not to sigh when he recognized that same goddamn worn-out travel coat. He never listened to him.

“Because you certainly know a thing about being right on time, don't you” the dwarf simply stated with his gravelly voice.

“Oh, spare me.” Tony flipped his hand in a vague gesture.

He stretched his back, took a look around him. The inn was crowded now, his companion had have to take the vacant chair to avoid any more unintentional shoves.

“The merchandise in on the quay, twelve ingots of plutonium, as you asked.”

“Perfect.”

The brunet laid a large purse on the table the dwarf took without checking its content. There was no need when your customer was Tony Stark. He even paid more than necessary most of the time, the blacksmith had told him once it was out of laziness and it deserved an extra for the quality of the material they provided him.

“It's gonna be important, isn't it? You don't work with plutonium often. Ah, it melts so beautifully, I wish I could stay just to see that.”

“I guess” Tony offered a little smile at the wonder that had taken over his grey eyes.

“Hold your joy back, it's gonna spread all over the port, Starky. What, is it gonna bite you in the arse? I can hardly see someone threatening you to craft something for them. Not with such kind of metal.”

“And there goes to waste the opportunity to use 'backfire'”, Tony said dramatically.

He left a lovely tip for the waitress beside the mug and pushed his chair back.

“You and your damn fire jokes.”

The dwarf took the hint and stood up, promptly followed by Stark. They left the inn and headed for the quay. They passed by many fish vendors, much less itinerant marchants as they went more and more far from the aerodrome. The sea breeze blew gently on their hair, fresh and iodized, not cool enough for Tony to regret wearing a sleeveless top. Eventually they joined the other dwarf that was in charge to keep an eye on his commodities. Two substantial and solid bags rested on the ground, at his feet.

Tony thanked them warmly for making his way back home a bit shorter, and for the quick delivery. The dwarves then bade him goodbye, assuring him it was always a pleasure to deal with him. Left alone, Tony hailed a transport carriage. Each bag had to weigh more than 150 pounds, there was no way he could lift them both on his own. One alone would have been a bitch to his back and he needed his muscles now more than ever, thank you a lot.

He spent most of the afternoon organizing his mess, putting on display what could be of use for the god of mischief's order so everything or almost would be at hand. He brought back his mithril bars from his storeroom along some precious gems. By the end of the day, his workshop was as ready as it could be. Tony couldn't deny it filled him with a high sense of thrill. It wasn't going to be the project of his life, nothing could beat his battle armor that took him months and months of work, and he still uptaded it from time to time when he'd come up with innovative ideas.

But it hold a lot of potential to be in his top five. Maybe three.

No, Loki wasn't anyone. That he could totally agree with. It was most likely he would ask for the finest piece of weapon, something that would be able to contain all of his destructive powers and the powerful magic that ran in his veins. It sounded like a delicious challenge Tony couldn't help but gladly accept, look for even. Where some people would only see a pair of ordinary knives, he saw a couple of deadly and magnificent daggers, refined handles and razor-sharp blades. Oh he could picture so much more, he had to take a sheet of paper and scribble everything that came to mind, along a few diagrams.

It had been so long since his last magical crafting. He hated the fact Loki had appeared in his life as the catalyst, the very one who got to revive those lost feelings. After many cursings, a strong bottle of ale, too many drafts and a stupid fluffy cat meowling plaintively outside at the front door that led to some more cursing, he decided he was done working for the day.

“You hungry, little monster?”

Dummy rubbed affectionately against his legs, making incessant little high-pitched noises. Such a talkative cat. “Like master, like cat” had once joked Rhodey with a sensitive fondness in his voice. “I'm not his master, he picked me for no reason and now I'm trapped with that fuzzy thing” had been Tony's reaction. “And wait a damn second, what's that supposed to mean?”. Rhodey hadn't deigned to give it an answer.

“Yeah, me too.”

He clapped his hands and all the flames on the torches vanished in a quiet gust of wind, only to reappear as a condensed floating fire in the palm of his right hand. The cat trotted behind him as he led the way to the kitchen. He hold out his hand and the fire divided up to light up the room in a subdued light. This spell was one of his favorite tricks. If he went from one room to another in the house, the fire would follow his steps and illumine the room he stayed in. Dummy had remained silent all this time, watching warily the fireballs as the magic operated. Tony shot a glance at him and prepared his meal. There were leftovers from the chicken of yesterday he cut into pieces, then he put them into Dummy's assigned bowl. A loud purr emanated from the feline as it started to eat.

Tony checked the content of the cupboards, frustrated. He didn't feel like eating overcooked meals tonight. He wasn't in the mood for cooking at all. He wanted to distract his mind, give himself a treat. Staying at home reminded him of work too much and while he usually wouldn't care, he didn't want to think more about Loki than he already was.

That came out just plain wrong.

“Daddy's out tonight. Behave, would ya?”

He didn't waste time to go to his bedroom upstairs so he could get changed for more stylish clothes. He picked a nice outfit, nothing too fancy but still better than any regular leather tunic. He splashed some water on his face in the nearby bathroom, combed back his hair and did his best to unfurl the curls that rested on the very top of his shoulders. Tony looked at himself in the mirror, satisfied. Yeah, that would do for tonight.

It appeared he could be hungry for more than food.

⁂

Turned out it was impossible to forget about Loki for just a moment. Of all the things, his table companions had to keep talking about him, and the nearby tables as well. Loki was in town and walking around freely, what the heck were they thinking, wasn't he supposed to be in jail, but I've heard he'd done his time, for the love of Gods what don't they understand in _forever_ , that was the safest way without any doubt, what does Thor even think of that, come on you know he is a fool when it comes to his mad not-so-much brother. And so on.

That was just his luck.

So he drank more, and barely joined the conversation, imagining their faces instead if he was to say “Oh yeah, by the way, I've to meet him tomorrow, I'm gonna craft him something he could use to kill you all when it's done, who knows maybe I'll be the first one to get stabbed, oh the honor!”. That very thought made him chuckle darkly and the two women that sat by his side gave him a seductive smile, added fuel to the conversation to get more reactions from him. Well, fuck. By the end of dinner, they finally changed the subject and things got more interesting, at fucking last.

Fandral's arrival had been more than welcomed. The blond handsome man walked straight to him, charming as ever. Tony couldn't hold a grudge against him for the competition. He always looked dashing, with his small goatee and his gleeful, malicious eyes. Hanging out with him was a guarantee of a good time, made of silly jokes and merry moments.

He even forgot about the women when they got to talk about one of his favourite topics. Midgard and all its wonders. How he longed to go back there to discover more of what they called electronic devices and science. Fridges, have you seen fridges and their ability to keep food cool, food that you could eat right away without any cooking? And that dark liquid gold that was coffee. And computers. That realm was such a source of inspiration to him. Damn their fashion and their so good-looking suits, he wanted to try some more so bad. Fandral had smiled and laughed at his excitement and the sparks in his eyes as they kept talking, and promised him to talk to Thor for a possible journey in the near future and that was enough for Tony to positively lift his mood.

What followed was even more drinks and a gorgeous redheaded female he went to a backroom with. His brain had finally shut down. If he managed to find his way back home at some point in the night, he completely forgot how.

⁂

Tony woke up with two things in mind. A hangover and the stupid idea to give the guy a chance. To start their relations all over again, and judge him by himself only, all rumors and past apart. They would have to work together after all, better as well make it more bearable. Blame the hangover.

Without any surprise, he hadn't made it past the couch of the living room last night. It took him a good hour and a half to surface and get rid of his blurry vision, to take a quick bath that did wonders to his sore back and get fully prepared for the day. Had the sun always been so bright he wondered as he went to his workshop to open the front door for business.

He hadn't expected to see the silhouette of a man waiting on his landing. He should have. He hadn't.

“Um. Good morning?”

“It's two in the afternoon, Stark”, came the icy, cutting retort.

On second thoughts, forget everything he had thought earlier.

Loki was a dick. Period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a surprise to me as well. I know the main plot, some events and how it is going to end but hi, Rhodey, fancy seeing you here. I also quite hate past tense right now.   
> Thanks for reading and for the support!

**Author's Note:**

> The background story and some details might seem obscure to you. Don't worry, it's done on purpose. I think it's called slow-build -also I like to tease, heh. Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it and see you next time for another chapter!


End file.
